Forgotten Words
by TiamatStorm2110
Summary: Sherlock is mute, nobody but him knows why and John is trying to find out. Will he like what he finds?
1. Meeting

221B Baker Street was actually calm tonight… far from the usual frantic pacings and experiments gone wrong chaos of his flatmate. Bliss.

John had come here on reccomendation from his psychiatrist. Rather, the notion of securing accomodation had been suggested, and he being a stubborn git had backpedalled as hard as he could, before breaking down and admitting he couldn't afford his own place.

As he had sat there in the office, head resting in his upturned palms, the door had been thrown open and a man had entered the room. The psychiatrist had insisted this man leave, but he took one scathing look at her and she stopped babbling immediately.

'Hello john. My name is Mycroft Holmes' he had said, it was simple, curt, at the risk of sounding snobbish due to his upper class accent. John had nodded his own somewhat hostile greeting and muttered 'Hullo' in a gruff and tired sounding voice.

Mycroft had smiled, his eyes remaining cold, the smile meaning nothing, a forced pleasantry.

'Cut to the chase will you' huffed John, a pain beginning to radiate through his leg again. He had begun to absent mindedly trace a finger in a circle at the source of the ache when Mycroft spoke

'I have been following your case quite closely for some time and I have come to the conclusion that we may have a situation mutally beneficial to both parties, if you should accept the offer to move into a flat on Baker Street with my little brother'

There was a moment of silence as John continued to sulk and then he had asked

'How much?'

'Free of charge on one condition'

'And that would be?'

'My brother is an arsehole'

This conversation had led to the handing over of keys, a whistlestop tour of 221B and finally to John meeting Inspector Lestrade and along with him, Sherlock Holmes.

The case was considerably more gruesome than John was expecting. His skills as a doctor had gained him good standing at the Yard, but he was still struggling with the memories from the battlefield.

Before him was the body of a young woman. Or at least everything up to her neck. The head was missing. Forensics was buzzing about everywhere and John could barely put a foot in front of the other without someone barking at him to watch his step. His clunky walking cane made things difficult, but his leg was so bad without it he couldnt cope otherwise.

He had been standing observing the body for a while when Lestrade came squelching over through the thick muddy crime scene, another slightly younger man in tow.

Lestrade shoved the other man towards John and said

'Don't be antisocial, you have to meet him some time'

The younger man scowled darkly and turned around to face John. Sticking out his hand, he offered it to shake, then turned to lestrade again and shrugged.

'John, this bag of bones is Sherlock. He doesn't speak, but I'm sure that wont be an issue in your field of work'

'Oh bloody hell' muttered John. Sherlock, who had been crouched on the ground examining the body, turned to look at John and just stared at him for a solid minute. John couldn't help but lock eyes with him.

The eyes staring up at John Watson were like two spotlights, cutting through him and stripping away any air of mystery he might have held before this point.

'N-nice to meet you Mr Holmes' muttered John

Sherlock scowled and held out a hand

'He wants your phone' smirked Lestrade. John fumbled his mobile out of his pocket and handed it to the curly haired man.

When it was handed back he saw that his address book had the name SHERLOCK H in it. A moment later a text was sent to his phone. He opened it and it read

'I prefer Sherlock – SH'

With a nod, John acknowleged this by saying

'Nice to meet you _Sherlock_ '

The detective nodded. No smile accompanied it though.

Still. John felt like if he didn't want to be here he would have left already. He assumed they were friends as it were.

Another text lit up his phone. This one read

'Need to go home and look at pictures of the evidence, coffee on the way? - SH'

John gave a quick, uncertain smile and said

'Alright, but its on you'

A sarcastic but genuine smile crept across the detectives face and he nodded his head towards the taxi rank at the edge of the park.

They left for the coffee shop around the corner from 221B.


	2. Trust

Getting out of the stuffy taxi into the cool London street was bliss. Not that he was ungrateful for the company but between the two extremes of the overly talkative taxi driver and the silent detective, John was more than happy to soak in the ambient noise of the city streets.

His hyper acute hearing took in the steady patter of millions of feet roaming the pavements, the hum of the streetlamp above him, the muffled roar of the ring road way off in the distance. The night was so still it carried all the way here. With the stillness came a slight chill, forcing John to zip up his jacket.

A hand touched his elbow a second later as Sherlock appeared beside him, nodding towards the door of a small but cosy looking coffee shop, he indicated he wanted to go inside

'Oh, of course' agreed John, pleased to be out of the cold for a bit. He limped a good metre behind the dark haired detective as he strode towards the shop – which was called the Express-o- and scowled to himself as another jolt of pain shot up from his ankle to his thigh. Making a mental note to see the doctor about getting stronger painkillers, he gritted his teeth and hobbled after Sherlock.

The inside of the shop was just as cosy as it had looked from the outside. Sherlock had picked out two seats near the back that were away from the window but brightly lit. he slung his coat over one seat, gesturing for John to sit down opposite.

The clicking of buttons told John that Sherlock had something to say, and a moment later the phone was slid across the scrubbed wooden table

'What would you like? -SH'

'Oh… um… surprise me' John said, struggling to think of anything on the spot. He watched as his new flatmate rose from the seat and expertly dodged chairs and waitresses while typing on his phone. He reached the cash register and showed the cashier the screen. There he waited impatiently, tapping his fingers against his arm and swaying gently from side to side while the coffee was being made.

Finally seated and sipping his coffee gingerly, Sherlock fixed John with that laser beam stare from before and for a fleeting moment, an expression flashed across his face that John could have sworn was… pained?

'You alright Sherlock?' grunted John, unsure of what to say or do, small talk being useless as it took Sherlock a while to respond to anything. The detective shrugged, it was genuine, his eyes betrayed him. He really didn't know what was going on in his mind.

There was a palpably awkward silence growing between them as John struggled to come up with any more conversation starters, and Sherlock fell into his own thoughts. After some time of him studying John from across the table when he thought he wasn't looking, Sherlock picked up his phone.

After a few seconds hesitation, John's phone received the message

'Body in park. Professional or panic? -SH'

Another shrug

'Dunno, the wound looked clean, precise, but the way she was hidden tells me that they didn't expect the outcome'

The curls bounced as the detective nodded

'I also noticed the wound was cauterised, you cant do that with a normal cutting tool'

Again Sherlock nodded, then furiously texted John again

'Profession may involve heated cutting tools, or could be crazy'

John chuckled at the last message

'That's a bit rich coming from you'

Sherlock grinned sarcastically, made a mock obscene gesture and drained the rest of his coffee in one sip. He had one last message to send before they left. It buzzed through to John right after Sherlock had excused himself to go to the bathroom. It simply said

'Can I trust you?'

When Sherlock returned, John smiled briefly and said

'Yeah, I think you can trust me Sherlock'

The detective let a small but genuine smile pass over his normally expressionless face, before resuming his mask and beckoning for John to follow him back home.

It was time for John to meet the landlady.


	3. Friendship

Sherlock seemed to be away with the fairies as they walked home together. He was walking so slowly and so deep in thought that there were a few occasions when John limped right past him. As they approached the flat, the door swung open and a tiny old woman with brown hair and an apron around her middle came flying out to greet them.

'Oh hello dear, you must be John Watson, sorry I wasn't about when you saw the flat earlier, I was out running some important errands' she beamed, giving him a hug and squashing all the air right out of him

'Hullo' gasped John as he was crushed by the tiny bird like woman, as she pulled away she said

'My name is Mrs Hudson and you call on me if anything goes wrong, mind you I'm not your slave, if you want a cup of tea, or something to eat, you get it yourself'

There was a stern tone in her voice that made John feel like a schoolboy being told off in the classroom and he muttered

'Y-yes of course Mrs Hudson, pleasure to meet you'

She turned to Sherlock and putting her hands on his shoulders she made a concerned noise and gave him a little shake

'Look at you, you're in a right old state again' she pouted 'What did I tell you about going out without brushing your hair'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and made a gesture like an explosion around his head

'It does not look like a bird nest, it looks lovely when you take care of it' Scolded the landlady, wagging a finger at the detective who hung his head sheepishly

'Now' she said, making both men jump

'Who wants some tea?'

The seats in the living room were old and worn but still very comfortable. John let a sigh escape him as he eased himself into the squishy armchair. Mrs Hudson whipped about with surprising agility for a woman of her age, as she headed towards the kitchen she stopped dead and wheeled about on one foot, facing Sherlock and with a stern expression she said

'I'm not going to find any nasty surprises in there am I?'

Sherlock blinked at her with wide eyes and slowly shook his head

'Good' she smiled, then hurried away into the room just off the living room, leaving Sherlock standing there quietly sulking.

He shrugged off the long coat and scarf, laying the coat across the back of the chair, and the scarf on an old hat stand that was tucked into the corner behind a peeling book case. He then sat on the chair in a very strange manner, his feet on the seat and his back against the backrest, very much resembling a monkey in posture.

It was in this way that he sat in silence until Mrs Hudson came back with the tea. She popped a placemat down on the coffee table then immediately after putting the cups down she turned and berated the silent detective again

'If you keep sitting like that you'll get a bad back young man' she said sharply, wagging a patronising finger at Sherlock who again looked bewildered, obviously not used to being fussed over. Nevertheless he rolled his eyes, but assumed a more comfortable looking sitting position, which seemed to satisfy the landlady as she left the room through the main door, closing it softly behind her.

John just stared at Sherlock for a moment and raised his tea to his lips, he figured getting involved with this argument might just antagonise Sherlock, so he held his tongue.

Eventually, Sherlock cleared his throat quietly. The noise was barely audible, but it still made john look up

'What's the matter?' he asked with concern ever so slightly creeping into his voice. The pained look on Sherlock's face was absolute now, and he shook his head gently, gesturing towards it, and then his mouth

'Uhh, you know what you want to say… but the words aren't coming out?' guessed John, Sherlock nodded, the answer was slow and purposeful, but hope had suddenly started blazing in his eyes. Hedging his bets, john continued to speak

'Has nobody else asked you that?' he asked in shock

The detective shook his head, reaching behind him and into his coat pocket he used his phone to elaborate

'I want to speak, but the words are lost. The more I try to make something come out of my mouth, the more impossible I find it'

John nodded understandingly.

'I uh, I appreciate you telling me that Sherlock, don't mean to be rude but its late and we'll both need our sleep tonight'

Sherlock nodded in agreement, the two finished their tea before getting up – john with some difficulty- and heading down the hall to the shared bedroom.

Inside were two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, John's things were neatly laid on his bed, Sherlock's things were _everywhere_.

John didn't even undress, just slumped down onto his bed on the tidy side of the room, and drifted off straight away.

Sherlock watched him carefully from his side of the room, in awe that someone was finally getting through to him, before he too drifted off.


	4. Dark

I refuse to correct my 'mistake' ;) I don't have a publisher, I'm just a young lady seeking to write fanfics because I'm happy doing it. Your review has been noted and I have heard word that several of my _friendlier_ reviewers have reported you. Your review was not fair or constructive. I don't suppose you would like it if someone gave you the same review. That being said. You are only human and I don't mind if you were experiencing menstrual frustration that day ;)

* * *

John's sleep was disturbed sometime during the night by a repetitive noise pushing into his subconscious. It was a strange rhythmic tapping.

Opening his eyes slowly, he squinted in the darkness to try and find the source of the noise. Of course it was bloody Sherlock.

The detective was sitting upright in his bed, the covers thrown back and the pillows on the floor in a crumpled heap, a look of wild terror on his face, but no movement other than his hand on the wall, fingernails tapping a disjointed pattern on the paintwork.

John realised after a few moments of sleep addled confusion, that Sherlock was tapping a message in Morse Code on the wall. With some concentration he picked out the letters 'R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R'

Remember? What had Sherlock forgotten that plagued his sleep in such a way… John was confused, he didn't know if he should wake the sleeping man or not. He had read somewhere a long time ago that waking a person could be dangerous, though Sherlock wasn't sleepwalking… At a loss, John just sat and watched Sherlock in the dim orange glow from the streetlight. As it happened, Mrs Hudson came to the door a moment later

'John dear, are you awake?' she whispered

'Yeah' he hissed back. The door handle depressed and a tired, tousled looking Mrs Hudson came shuffling into the room

'When he gets like this I just don't know what to do' she fretted, picking up the pillows and placing them behind Sherlock and sitting beside him

'Does this happen much?' Asked John, pressing for answers, curiosity biting at his toes.

'Only since he stopped talking' was the answer, Mrs Hudson's earnest little face clouding with sadness

'His tapping thing, its Morse code'

'Eh? What ever does it mean?'

'He keeps saying the word remember, over and over'

'Oh… you don't think he's dreaming about the incident, do you?' gasped the Landlady, gripping the hem of her dressing gown tightly

'What… um… what accident Mrs Hudson?' John asked carefully

'Oh dear, I've gone and opened my big mouth haven't I?' she cried softly 'I'm afraid its not my place to tell you dear, if he wants you to know, its up to him to explain'

John nodded understandingly and swinging his legs back around under the bedclothes, he whispered

'I could keep an eye on him tonight if you need some sleep'

The look of gratitude on Mrs Hudson's face lit up her pixie features

'Oh you're a treasure John Watson' she beamed 'Make sure he doesn't go wandering and if he rolls out of bed, just cover him over and give him a pillow so his neck doesn't get stiff'

'Ah Mrs Hudson, we're supposed to go to the morgue in the morning, think he'll be ok?' John queried uncertainly

'He'll be alright' she smiled 'Bit grumpy, but no change otherwise'

She shut the door behind her softly and shuffled off downstairs to make a quick cup of tea.

Heaving a sigh and rolling over to face the wall, John listened carefully until the tapping noise subsided, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.


	5. Green

The morgue was the last place John wanted to be, yet here they were. Sherlock was gleefully bounding between the corpse with the severed head and pictures of a slightly older, but identically dispatched human being.

John felt his phone buzz for the umpteenth time and had stopped checking the messages by this point, but when Sherlock aimed a scathing look at him, he pulled out his phone and clicking his tongue in annoyance at Sherlock's texts filling up his inbox, read them all one by one. Most were just observations of the body, but the latest one read

'Killer used red hot tree felling axe'

'Wha- How the hell can you tell that from just looking at it?' John asked, perplexed and a little disturbed by the detective's enthusiasm around dead bodies. Sherlock wrenched his phone from his pocket and typed at breakneck speed

'Angle of cut + cauterised wound. Killer took two blows to sever the first victims head'

He shoved the phone into his friends' face. John just nodded. He didn't see the point of arguing by this point, but had to ask

'How did the killer heat the axe, something that big… a light surely couldn't do that'

The detective shook his head in agreement and in a moment of hopeful revelation, texted john

'What if it was a rubbish bin fire?'

'Makes sense' agreed John, running a hand through his thinning hair 'There were plenty of bins in the park, I didn't see any burned ones though'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his intent clear. He was all for going through the park with a fine-tooth comb to find the evidence he was sure would be there.

Though his head was spinning with tiredness, John agreed to go with the detective to the crime scene. Sherlock didn't seem too happy at the idea of getting Lestrade involved when John suggested they let him know, but shrugged sullenly and agreed.

The day was chilly, a light mist was rolling in slowly over the pathetic flowerbeds and ugly green park benches when they pulled up in Lestrade's personal car

'You get anything on those seats and it comes out of your pay check' he grunted as they opened the car doors to get out.

Both he and Sherlock resented being in the same place at the same time, the two of them were facing away from each other, arms crossed grumpily and a matching scowl on their faces.

Trying his best to diffuse the tension, John suggested he and Sherlock go round the lake to where the body had been found, while Lestrade waited by the car in case he was needed elsewhere

'Oh yeah? What do you think I was born yesterday? Fine, I'll stay here…' he sulked, opening the driver side door and sitting sideways on the seat, able to watch them while they worked.

'C'mon Sherlock, best hop to it' John said briskly, Sherlock nodded and began to walk up the path that went around the body of water separating the bandstand from the rest of the park.

They had been searching for a good half hour when John came across something strange. The bins in the park were set at intervals of roughly nine metres. This particular spot had obviously had one set here, but the concrete square was bare, nothing was stood on it. It was just another ugly bottle green bench, and a flat plinth with a smattering of sooty ash in a perfect circle.

'Sherlock, over here' called John. The sound of footsteps announced Sherlock's presence and his eyes widened at the discovery. John's phone buzzed

'Think it could be nearby?'

'I don't know to be honest with you' Said John, running a hand through his hair 'Could be here, could be where the killer is, I really don't know'

Sherlock nodded in mutual frustration

'What does it look like?' another text said

'Oh, uh… Same crappy green as the benches, the bins I passed earlier all had a number painted on them. The first one I passed was 17, the one before this was 20, so this one should have been 21'

Sherlock mirrored his look of concern. John felt his phone vibrate

'Green you say? Look over there in the water'

They looked in unison at the lake, it took John a few minutes to locate whatever Sherlock had spotted, but in the end he saw it. At an angle in the middle of the water near the island for the ducks, was the very corner of a bottle green metal bin

'Ah… Crap… finger prints will all be gone' John fumed quietly.

All Sherlock could do was kick the nearby lamp post in frustration, resulting in a strangled yelp -one of the very few sounds the detective could not hold back- and a great deal of hopping about on the spot. John rolled his eyes

'C'mon you. Lets go and see your brother'


	6. Promise

It came as a surprise to John that when Sherlock and Mycroft were in the same room, they were not only very close, but could communicate almost wordlessly. Slight lifts of the chin, a raised eyebrow, sometimes even a twitch of a lip -tiny things that John wouldn't have picked up on- enabled them to have a full conversation within the confines of roughly three spoken words from Mycroft.

They also seemed to know sporadic bits of sign language. When a message Sherlock was emoting was lost in translation, Mycroft spoke, saying

'Little brother I didn't quite get that one' Prompting Sherlock to raise his hands and fingerspell what he had meant. His phone remained in his pocket.

After a few minutes, the expression on Mycroft's face darkened

'I don't want you to put yourself in danger Sherlock, last time you did that you stopped speaking'

Sherlock raised a furious eyebrow and silently shushed Mycroft with a finger to the lips. The older sibling shook his head

'Time you came clean Sherlock, if you don't tell him before you solve this case, _I will_ ' he said matter-of-factly.

John watched as Sherlock's shoulders fell, the expression on his face changed and he shook his head. If words could come out John was sure the detective would tell his brother what he thought. In the same moment John came to wonder what could have possibly scared the man so badly that he couldn't get a sound to come out.

It seemed at times that Sherlock wanted to tell him, but was afraid, for one reason or another.

Mycroft picked up a paper on his desk and handed it to Sherlock

'I don't mean to undermine the good work you were doing, but I had someone do some investigating for me, this is what they discovered'

The paper bore a list of details, a possible suspect, a place of residence… John noticed Sherlock had gone very pale in the face, his eyes flicked up to Mycroft and an eyebrow was raised in question

'Am I sure? Very much so'

A funny strangled sound came from the silent detective's throat and turning on his heel, he stormed out of the room

'Uh… where did he..?' John stuttered

'Baker Street' said Mycroft stiffly, handing over a large brown envelope 'Take this, he'll be needing it'

John just nodded and heaving a sigh of frustration, limped out of the room. Muttering obscenities under his breath as he walked.

The cup of tea in his hands at Baker Street was a weight off his mind, Mrs Hudson had sensed something was up the moment she had greeted him, making a passing comment on how Sherlock's mood had gone south again and practically shoving him into his armchair with a mug of boiling tea. The grating rasp of an out of tune violin drifting down the stairs, perfectly demonstrated Sherlock's irritation. At what, John couldn't fathom. The silent detective was a strange and tortured man.

'Mrs Hudson' John started, stroking the rim of the porcelain mug and picking his next words carefully

'Have you ever heard him speak' he muttered, voice low so Sherlock didn't overhear

'Once' Came the distracted reply 'He was having a nightmare. I don't think it was more than a day before you moved in' she explained, twisting her slight hands in her lap and obviously wondering if it was right to be talking about this

'He sat up in bed, straight as you like but fast asleep and I heard him, clear as glass. He asked for his brother then fell back asleep. He didn't seem to remember it the next morning and he hasn't done it since'

She lapsed into a painful silence herself, John assumed she thought she had said too much, so said quietly

'Thanks, Mrs Hudson. It means a lot that you told me'

The bird like landlady smiled wistfully

'I would give anything to hear him laugh again. God only knows what the poor wisp has been through that frightened him so much he lost his voice'

John nodded in agreement

'Don't worry, I'll try my best to help him for your sake if for nobody else' John said, a brief and uncomfortable but genuine smile flashing across his military mask.

It was a promise


	7. Research

John had been here in the stuffiness of the archives for hours. His neck and back were stiff from poring over endless printouts and paper articles, trying to find something at all about Sherlock's mysterious past.

It seemed for every page he turned he was getting further from where he wanted to be and heaving a frustrated sigh, he dropped another printout of an internet article onto the dud pile.

It was as his eyes flicked from the duds to the pile of unread articles that something on the top caught his eye. A plain black and white photocopy of an internet blog titled

'CONNIE'S CASEFILE'

The paragraph underneath was all about Sherlock, to shocking and obsessive detail. This Connie girl knew about his childhood, his favourite pastimes, pet peeves and obsessions. She knew he stayed up until the small hours hung up on cases. She even knew he was unable to speak from sheer trauma.

The date on the post in the photocopy was from six months ago

'Bloody Nora' muttered John 'Sherlock, what the hell aren't you telling me?'

Stuffing the paper into his pocket, John piled everything neatly back onto the shelf and left the room as quickly as his knackered leg could carry him.

On his way back to Baker Street, John tried to think of ways to broach the subject with Mrs Hudson. The two had agreed not to tell Sherlock they were looking into this, it wouldn't be right to deviate his attention from a case he was enjoying. Eventually he just settled on planning to show her the paper, and going from there.

* * *

As the landlady walked into the room holding a cuppa, John stood and deliberated for a few seconds before finally holding the piece of paper out to her and saying

'You seen this then?' gruffly.

Tears came to her eyes as she read the paper, her hand trembling

'Oh no' she whispered 'How could the poor dear not even tell me?'

'Because I don't think is totally the reason' sighed John, hating himself for saying the next sentence, but knowing it was necessary

'I think she was an accomplice'

'Accomplice? How… what…?' stuttered the tiny landlady in confusion

'I don't really know either, but it's the best lead I have and I don't want Mycroft to have to tell me, I know fine well Sherlock is banking on me finding this out before Mycroft spoils everything'

Mrs Hudson nodded

'It's a puzzle and he wants you to solve it yourself' she confirmed.

'You have a lot to be doing then' she said gravely 'Sherlock only tests the ones he trusts, I feel there is more to the story than even his brother knows'

John nodded in agreement and frustration

'Has to be something he isn't telling people. Absolutely has to be' he muttered.

Mrs Hudson handed him back the paper and jerking her head toward the ceiling, silently pointed out that the violin had ceased, and there was no movement or noise above them. Sherlock was listening. Wrapping the conversation up with quick nods to one another, the landlady and tenant went their separate ways for now.

* * *

John didn't realise how long he had been walking around town agonising over the situation until he got a text from Sherlock that read

'Nearly dark, why aren't you back?'

John sent a quick reply to notify the detective that he was on his way, but took the opportunity of the time and location to swing by the library on his way home.

He limped right over to the newspaper and historical section and pulled out the binder with the dates he suspected he would find answers in. flipping through it quickly, he saw nothing that caught his eye until he reached the back page. There in bold print was the headline

 **'Brilliant detective struck dumb by horror kidnapping** '

It was what he needed. Unable to take the binder or page home with him, John snapped a quick photo of the article and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Snapped the binder shut and placed it on the shelf, then left the library.

He was in such a hurry to leave he didn't see the figure sitting in the far corner of the library wearing sunglasses and a trench coat smirking at him from over the top of a magazine.

He didn't know it now.

But he was being watched


	8. Discovery

Barely even registering that it was raining until his coat collar became uncomfortably waterlogged, John hailed a cab at the side of the road to take him back to 221B. Telling the driver where to go, he mulled over the things rushing around his head. He had so much to do and he knew Sherlock was expecting him to work things out before Mycroft spoiled it for everyone. The case they were taking right now was hitting wall after wall and they were making no new discoveries, it would be dismissed as a cold case before too long, and then he would find out, no matter what Sherlock wanted.

Time was not being kind to John.

He was so absorbed in everything that he hadn't noticed the taxi take a wrong turn at a junction, nor did he notice it speed up slightly. By the time he had picked up on them going the wrong way, he was bewildered and had lost all sense of direction thanks to the darkness of the night and the rain that was now falling quite heavily

'Hey, I think you missed a turn or something back there' John said to the driver, checking his phone as he did so. He sent a quick text to Sherlock reading

'In cab, driver went wrong way – Might be back later than expected' and thought no more of it until they slowed almost to a stop alongside a curb somewhere in the city centre. The cab driver turned in their seat and said

'Sorry mate, satnav is buggered'

John smiled nervously but saw no ill intent, that was until a cold wet mist was sprayed in his face and suddenly he was tired, his limbs were heavy, and then. Black.

John woke up suddenly. His face pressed against a cold hard… something. He couldn't think through the drug induced fog in his brain. Whatever had been used was strong stuff, not just available over the counter.

As he lay there trying to calm the fierce headache making his temples throb unpleasantly, he heard the sound of heels clicking on a hard surface and a pair of smart black low heeled leather shoes came into his field of vision.

'Mr Watson, welcome to my humble abode' a sharp sounding female voice remarked, her tone mocking. She nudged him with a pointy leather clad toe and sighed

'You gave him too much baby!'

a disgruntled sounding male voice answered

'I'm sorry sweet peach, I couldn't take a chance on this one'

'James, dear… how many times do I have to tell you that you only need one dose' came the mocking woman's voice again

'But where would be the fun in that… Connie?'

The cogs began to whir slowly in John's brain… Connie… where had he heard that name? He flicked back mentally through his actions over the last three days or so and it hit him like a truck. She was Sherlock's obsessive stalker.

But the question remained. Who was this James guy, and what did he want?

John didn't have long to wait to find out the answers he wanted.

He was shoved roughly, hard enough to cause him to roll over and jar his bad leg hard. His yelp echoed in the large empty space around him and his double vision became worse as he turned sharply. As the spinning copies of what he was seeing settled and everything began to make more sense. He was lying on the floor in some kind of concrete paved warehouse. With some effort he grunted

'Where am I? what do you two idiots want?'

'Careful John, you don't want to be rude to us' Grinned James sadistically, slowly fishing a Taser from his breast pocket

'Be a good boy and I wont have to use this' he hissed

'Do your worst you bastard, Sherlock will know I'm later than usual, he'll come for me'

'I know that, idiot' snapped James maniacally, swinging on his chair like a demented five year old

'The name's Moriarty by the way' he added with a giggle 'James Moriarty'

'Cant say I've heard of you' muttered John

'Too bad, one Mr Holmes thinks I'm a bit off the rails, but then, he doesn't say much these days'

'Wait what?' John gasped

'Oops, I've said too much' cackled Moriarty

He jumped up from his seat in wild glee as the security buzzer sounded and John felt sick.

Sherlock had come to find him.


	9. Truth

John felt ill. Sherlock had fallen for the bait Moriarty and Connie were casting and he couldn't do anything to stop him. The doctor could barely sit up straight and his bad leg was looking worse than usual. He daren't even think what would happen to Sherlock if he was in any way distracted.

The problem was, John had never seen Sherlock look so angry in the months they had lived together.

Appearing in the doorway in a flurry of dead leaves and raindrops, the detective was practically foaming at the mouth, his normally serene face creased with worry and fury, his jaw set and fists curled. Composure was abandoned as he strode into the room, glaring around at the two criminals, hiding in their rats nest.

'What's the matter, cat got your tongue?' teased Moriarty, darting around Sherlock, itching to use the Taser but obviously prohibited if the look on Connie's face was anything to go by, she was standing tight lipped, arms crossed. The look she was giving Sherlock was partly amused and partly like she wanted to rip his face from his body and boil it in acid.

'So, you came then?' she snapped angrily, almost as if Sherlock's prompt and accurate arrival had ruined some game she had been playing.

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a message to John - obviously pre-typed – causing his phone to beep.

Through the fuzziness of his addled brain, John managed to read the message aloud

'John's phone has a GPS, obviously you two aren't that clever'

'Why you arrogant son of a b=' began Connie, before biting her tongue and checking herself. She knew and everyone else in the room knew that Sherlock was trying to rile her up. John hoped against reason that Sherlock would find the right button to push.

Apparently Sherlock was playing the same game too. Another message beeped through

'What happened to 'us' then? You said you were going to marry me now suddenly you're running off with Moriarty' read John, fighting the urge to chuckle at the detectives to the point attitude. Connie flushed crimson and losing it shrieked

'I loved you damnit! You should have loved me too, then I would have had to hurt you'

She took a step towards the detective and John could have sworn he saw him flinch. Sherlock wasn't afraid of much. His reaction unsettled John.

'So you do remember… despite what you told the police' grinned Connie, taking a step back again, picking at her fingernails and breathing heavily.

'What did he tell the police?' asked John, a hint of unease creeping into his voice

'He told them he was attacked from behind, that he never saw who knocked him out… and … tortured him'

'But he lied to save your sorry arse' finished John, gritting his teeth to stop himself shouting

'Yes, indeed' confirmed the insane stalker 'I knocked him out just like I did you, but Sherlock here wouldn't tell me he loved me'

'Nobody in their right mind would' muttered John

' _Anyway_ , as I was saying, I tried to … persuade him. He was bloody stubborn so I made him shut up'

'How…?' asked John

'You've seen his scars. They weren't self inflicted' she grinned maniacally 'I hurt him just like he hurt me'

'You're a monster' snarled John 'And worst of all you hurt an innocent man because you couldn't handle him rejecting you'

'I cried no tears for him' Connie smiled, her eyes hard and cold 'It doesn't matter though, nobody will ever know'

'I'll know'

'Who would you tell. He wont speak to confirm its true'

John turned towards Sherlock, who until now had been following the conversation and was silently seething. The look on his face was odd. It was irritated, like he was trying to make a difficult decision. Suddenly he fixed John with that mesmerising laser beam stare and looking from John, to Connie and back again, pressed the send button on his phone

'Game over' it read.

John vocalised the words and a confused expression spread across Connie's face, she glanced around the room, before realising what exactly it was he had done.

'Were you… recording me?' she screamed, her eyes wide with anger and … fear?

The silent detective simply nodded. John's phone beeped again

'And the police have the recording'


	10. Hurt

Connie was livid. Her face was twitching with the effort of staying calm but she wasn't doing a great job. She marched right over to Sherlock until they were standing toe to toe and grabbed his phone from his hand

'I don't believe you' she snapped 'What's your passcode?'

Sherlock smirked and held his hand out for his phone.

'Tell me the damn code' Said Connie 'Come on, break your promise so I can hurt you real bad' she whispered, leaning in close. Before Sherlock even had time to think about it, she raised the phone above her head and hurled it at the floor.

Sherlock let out a surprised gasp, his mouth forming a little o shape. His only form of communication had just been destroyed and he was _mad_. Behaving totally out of character, Sherlock grabbed her by her blazer and practically lifted her off the floor

'Go on then' Connie chided 'Show your pal over there what you're really capable of'

It took Sherlock a moment to realise what he was doing, and glancing over at John he appeared to change his mind, and let go of his tormenter,

All the time this had been going on, John realised Moriarty was nowhere to be found and he said

'So, I noticed your little boyfriend buggered off at the first sniff of trouble'

Connie sneered at John and peeling Sherlocks fingers away from her blazer she took a step back, squared herself and lunged at him.

The sound of her fist connecting with Sherlock's cheek made John wince and forced a pained grunt from the usually silent detective. He seemed surprised at the tiny noise, a hand automatically went to his smarting cheek and he looked at Connie.

'Why wouldn't you have me' she screamed, pummelling his chest with her fists 'Why did you refuse me? I could have been perfect for you. I would have killed for you'

Sherlock stood there patiently and let her pound her fists into his torso, it didn't hurt him and it distracted her

'I only hurt you because I was mad, I didn't mean to hurt you this badly' she sobbed, giving up throwing her punches and collapsing in a desperate heap on the floor

'Doesn't matter what you wanted to do' John said from his corner 'You weren't thinking about him, only about yourself… if you really loved him you would have let him go'

Looking pathetic and defeated, Connie glared hatefully at John and reached out a hand towards Sherlock

'Please' she begged.

The detective shook his head as the distant wailing of sirens could be heard

Unable to look at Sherlock out of shame, Connie whispered in a barely audible voice

'I didn't mean to hurt you, it was never my intention'

Wheeling around with flames leaping in his glare, Sherlock shook his head angrily at her, his inability to voice his frustrations angering him further. He dropped into a crouch, inches from her face and stared directly into her eyes, Seething broiling blue boring into darkness.

As the police burst into the room, he stood and walked away from her to help his friend to safety.

John fainted from the pain before he had even reached his side.

Waking up in a light and airy hospital room with a bandaged and elevated leg, John raised his head to find a worried looking Sherlock sitting in the visitors chair and Mycroft standing by the door.

'Glad to have you back in the land of the conscious John' Mycroft said, not bothering to turn around straight away, watching the reflection of what was going on behind him in the glass pane set into the door.

John sat up in bed and unable to string together the sentence he wanted to for fear of asking, he just said

'is… it all over?'

'Yes and no' Mycroft answered cryptically, opting to use the moment to dramatically turn around and move across the room until he was standing beside his brother. With one hand on Sherlock's shoulder, he asked him

'Little brother, do you want to stay or leave while I tell him the truth?'

Sherlock crossed his arms and settled in his seat

'So be it you stubborn git' Mycroft huffed, then began to talk.


	11. Absolution

Mycroft had talked long into the afternoon, leaving on the crux of twilight. The sky outside the hospital room was indigo and pink, splashed with orange. Sherlock stared moodily out of the small window set into the prefabricated NHS wall and let a small sigh escape him. Taking out his new phone, he sent a text to John that said

'Need air, back soon'

John didn't really think much of it, nodding and telling Sherlock not to be too long.

'I'll only be an hour' came the response. The detective shoved his phone back into his pockets, threw a scarf around his neck and slouched out of the room. Leaving John alone with his thoughts and the daily crossword.

True to his word, Sherlock came back to see John on the hour. The sky had shifted from brooding colours to inky darkness, stars winking jovially as the half moon gilded silver edges onto everything.

Sherlock seemed troubled.

'What's eating you?' John asked, trying to broach the subject as cheerily as he could.

Out came the phone, and Sherlock typed a quick message

'I've seen Connie…'

'What, is she here in the hospital?'

'Yeah, doctors told me she tried to kill herself while the police had her detained'

'Oh, I'm sorry'

Sherlock hesitated for a second before typing something and pressing send with a shaking thumb

'Don't be sorry. Part of me hoped she succeeded'

John had no words, nothing he could say would make Sherlock feel better. Instead he handed him the crossword and said

'I cant figure out was eleven across is'

A wry little smile passed over Sherlock's face as he took the pen and newspaper from John, immediately filling in the answer

'Know it all' John grinned. Sherlock smiled too, but then something passed over him, like a shadow. He was deliberating, his mind no doubt full of tumultuous thoughts. John could see there was something he wanted desperately to convey. As Sherlock put down the newspaper on the side table beside the visitors chair, John asked

'What is it? Did I do something wrong?'

Sherlock shook his head quickly, a horrified guilty expression clouding his face. He had made John feel bad, his only friend and he had made him feel _bad_ …

Watching the pained expression creep back onto Sherlock's face, John took a stab in the dark and asked

'Sherlock… is there something you want to… say?'

A frantic nod from the detective both rocked John to the core and made his heart leap.

'Do you want Mycroft? I can call him if you need him'

The detective shook his head and pointed at John, pulling out his phone he typed

'It wants to come out, but can I let it. I found it John but she's winning'

'You cant let her win' said John firmly 'You have to do what you feel is right, but Connie doesn't control you and she never did'

Another text reached John's phone

'She raped me John'

'Sherlock, I'm so sorry…' murmured his friend 'All I can offer you is my unwavering support'

The detective nodded, clearly trying not to cry

'They got Moriarty too' came another text

'That's good isn't it? He'll be punished accordingly by the law' John said, hoping Sherlock wouldn't take it badly. To his surprise his friend was nodding and had a tiny little smile on his face

'Sherlock… you said before that you were looking for something' John began, struggling to find the right thing to say 'Well, what I mean is… did you find it in the end? And uh… what was it you were looking for?'

Sherlock nodded, tears shining in his eyes and handed the newspaper back to him. In Sherlock's neat handwriting was the answer to eleven across

'Absolution'

'You found closure…' whispered John 'Good… very good'

He couldn't think of anything else to say, so just stared at the page until his phone beeped again

'Not just that'

Looking up at Sherlock, John shot him a confused look and Sherlock smiled innocently

'There was something else?'

Sherlock nodded and nervously fiddled with his scarf, eventually training his laser beam stare on John

'So uh… what else did you find? Muttered John

'A friend' whispered Sherlock.


End file.
